


No-strings

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:11:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4001935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas takes Meludir aside for the Feast of Starlight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No-strings

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “"feast of starlight" is just a nice paraphrase to hide the real nature of the party, it's more an orgy than a feast” prompt on [The Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/10731.html?thread=21749483#t21749483).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

There are so many _options_ , and of course they all smile at him; even Tauriel would give him a chance tonight, with the wine in all their stomachs and the stars making them merry. _The Feast of Starlight_ is Legolas’ favourite time of year, and not just because it melts his father down enough to loose the leash. 

Legolas wanders through the crowd, feeling one set of eyes after another on him, some still seated at newly setup tables to eat and drink and others gyrating against one another to the fluid sounds of harps. Some have wandered out to the gardens, branches drawn aside with ribbons to let in more of the sky than usual, and some hide in the shadows of corners, whispering and giggling over their goblets. Old Galion has a younger elf pinned against a table, leaning over to rasp lewd things in his ear; Legolas can tell from the flush that comes over the young archer’s features. He looks unsure at first, but then he spots Legolas over Galion’s shoulder and _smiles_ , a dazzling, gorgeous glow of teeth and width and pink lips still a little moist from their drink. His dimples make his eyes crinkle. His honey-orange hair is swept back behind his ears; his long, pale throat bared for the taking. 

He’s much too young for Galion. Perhaps he doesn’t think he has any better options. Legolas sweeps forward, a hand automatically splaying against the butler’s back, and Galion glances at him and sobers up. Galion would never think of touching Legolas; Thranduil would have his head. 

Legolas gently pushes him away, and Galion takes the hint and goes, nodding to Meludir—the too-cute elf that Legolas has always thought pretty but never truly _considered_. But the Feast of Starlight is for one thing only. For this one night, the potential of lovers is the only thing on Legolas’ mind. He takes Galion’s place and asks, “How are you?”

“Excellent, my lord,” Meludir instantly replies, and indeed, his face lights up in a way it didn’t for the old butler. For tonight, it’s enough. The signals are all there. When Legolas offers a hand, Meludir’s slips into it, although he hesitates with wide eyes first, looking up at Legolas as though he can’t believe it. He breathes quietly, “My prince,” and breaks into a wide grin. He looks like he wants to bow, but there’s no room for it.

Even on celebrations, Legolas has never been much of an exhibitionist. He guides Meludir away from the tables, around a pillar near the edge of the enclave, open on one side out into the gardens. When they turn just right behind the large, stone column, they’re cut off from the festivities, though they can still hear everything. Neither of them has a goblet in hand; Legolas has already drunk his fill, and Meludir is likely too small and young to ingest much. Legolas steers him easily towards the pillar and pins him up against it. One moment they’re apart, and the next, Legolas is flattened into him, their taut chests grinding together through their thin, silver ceremonial robes. Legolas’ knee presses insistently between Meludir’s thighs. Meludir parts for him, hands reaching to trace up the sides of his arms, squeezing his biceps experimentally. They’re both well trained and fit for it, but Meludir is thinner and seems more _fragile_ , or perhaps it’s just his sweet face shrouding innocence over him. Legolas twists long fingers beneath Meludir’s chin and tilts him up for a kiss. 

At first, it’s just soft, testing; is this one of those that Legolas should spend his evening and night with? But it becomes quickly obvious that _yes_ , this elfling is more than worthy. His soft, plush lips part after only a moment, a mewl bubbling up from his throat to pull Legolas’ forward. Rolling their bodies once together, Legolas plunges his tongue into Meludir’s mouth. He can taste the wine—Dorwinion: the very best. But he can also taste the saccharine underlining of fresh fruit. Meludir’s tongue is tentative at first, reverent, but soon it’s given in and kisses Legolas back just as happily: not hungry but languid. His lower body grinds slowly against Legolas’. Legolas’ hands slip down Meludir’s sides, over his trim waist and onto his hips. Meludir makes a keening noise and kisses him deeper. 

It’s so very easy to slip his hands around the curve of Meludir’s ass. He squeezes, eliciting a gaps and kneading the round cheeks, _feeling_ them in his hands: soft, warm flesh already eager for him. When he trails one hand under to Meludir’s thigh, picking it up to hike around him, Meludir latches on and arches up into him. Legolas holds that one knee up and fondles Meludir’s ass with the other, until Meludir has to break the kiss to gasp. 

He clutches tighter to Legolas’ shoulders, catching stray white-blond hairs in his grip. He ducks his head and rasps, husky and wanton, “ _My prince_...”

Legolas purrs, “Yes?” Leaving Meludir room to talk, he kisses the side of Meludir’s mouth instead, then his jaw, along to his neck, there nipping and sucking to leave faint pink circles that’ll likely linger to the morning. Meludir moans. 

Breathless, he mumbles, “Should we... should we really be...?”

Legolas releases his mouthful of skin. He lets Meludir’s leg fall back, using that hand to lift to Meludir’s cheek, cupping it softly. He can’t seem to let go of Meludir’s ass. He murmurs, “It is the Feast of Starlight; this is _exactly_ what we should be doing. ...Do you not want me?”

Meludir blushes. His face lights again, his smile stretching so very _perfectly_ that it makes Legolas wonder why he hasn’t done this earlier, though of course, he wouldn’t have done so in public on another night. A little bit of _danger_ and excitement has never stopped him before. Shaking his head once, Meludir answers, “I very much do. ...But I am hardly worthy of you, my lord.”

Legolas almost snorts. He’s never shared his father’s view of the classes. It’s easier to say, “Tonight, we are all equal under the night’s veil.” Pausing at Meludir’s bashful look, Legolas adds, “Besides, I am a prince and I will have what I want.” Meludir giggles, the sound light and chiming and utterly delightful. He lifts his chin back up before Legolas can guide him, their mouths rejoining. 

Legolas takes a hold of Meludir’s thigh again, ready to lift it up, only to have Meludir leap up, tossing both legs around his waist. Legolas quickly pins him harder against the pillar, keeping him up, while the heels of Meludir’s boots cross behind his rear. Lifting one hand to slide through Meludir’s hair, silky straight, the other slips between the part in Meludir’s robes, up to his crotch. The breaches he wears beneath are thin and clinging, almost tights, easy enough for Legolas to run his palm over and feel the insistent bulge waiting to meet him. He squeezes at it, drinks Meludir’s gasp, and slips his fingertips beneath it, tracing bare, warm skin. Meludir breaks the kiss to moan loudly, but he cuts off halfway through. 

His dark eyes go very, very wide, and Legolas follows Meludir’s gaze over his own shoulder. 

His cheeks heat a moment later, and he loosens his grip on Meludir’s hips, letting Meludir slip unsteadily back to his feet. Legolas mutters as stiffly as he can, “Father.”

He tries to sound confident, sure. In reality, he’s mortified, Meludir petrified against him. Thranduil’s gaze is as cool and disapproving as it usually is, even though Legolas is sure his father must’ve had much more to drink than him. Thranduil’s eyes thin, and he asks quietly, “What are you doing?”

Legolas glances back at Meludir, whose head is hung, likely more for a reason not to look at his king than true shame. Thranduil has the respect of everyone in the kingdom, but he can be terrifying when he’s angry.

Legolas finally manages to answer, “I was... celebrating the starlight.”

Raising a dark eyebrow, Thranduil asks, “In the corner of the hall?” Before Legolas can answer, Thranduil gestures aside, towards the open balcony and the cleared gardens beyond. “This is what we have ceremonial mattresses in the gardens for. You should know better than to sulk around dark corners like some mortal thief.” Pausing with his head turned aside, as though thoughtfully observing the gardens out of Legolas’ sight, Thranduil adds, “Last I saw, Feren had a mattress to himself and should have room. If you must bed those below your station, you could at least make a show of it in the name of the Festival, before rumours of lewd affairs arise.”

Feeling small and scolded, Legolas murmurs, “Yes, Father.” He had no intention of running off with Meludir—not that it would be a wholly unpleasant prospect—but he does now wonder why his wine-addled mind forsook his host duties. Of course his father would want him to be an elegant display, and even if it’s not his first choice, that’s one of the very few ways that Legolas can actually abide by his father’s expectations. 

Thranduil nods curtly. He says nothing to Meludir, simply sweeps away, likely for more wine and perhaps several lovers of his own. 

Legolas slips his hand into a furiously blushing Meludir’s and tugs him out towards the garden. He asks under his breath, “Do you like Feren?”

Meludir answers, “Yes, my prince,” shortly before they arrive in more waiting arms.


End file.
